


Fever Dream

by Cutekittenlady



Series: Black Paladin Zarkon AU [6]
Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-25
Updated: 2018-07-25
Packaged: 2019-06-16 04:43:43
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,232
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15429288
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Cutekittenlady/pseuds/Cutekittenlady
Summary: A late night return home confronts Zarkon with many private concerns.





	Fever Dream

The responsibilities of a paladin of Voltron were numerous, frequent, and demanding. Zarkon prided himself on his ability to juggle both his duties as emperor as well as his role as pilot of the black lion. It was a skill developed through years of harsh mental and physical training, initially intended to keep a soldier sharp on the field of battle, but which served its purpose equally well in a position of leadership. So a long journey, several fights, and hours of wakefulness were nothing to the warrior king.

He just wished he could say the same of his allies.

“We should install autopilot on the lions,” Blaytz’s exasperated voice drifted in over the intercom. “We’ve been flying for vargas and I’m barely keeping it straight.”

“I barely know how they work as is, I don’t think I want to go poking around whatever coding they might have,” Alfor chided.

His ability to go without sleep, developed through long nights of alchemical research and tinkering, rivaled Zarkon’s own. Though the slugging uncharacteristic snappiness of his voice was a clear indication of exhaustion.

Trigel’s presence was only confirmed by the sound of her occasional yawning coming in through the intercom, while they only knew Gyrgan was conscious because the yellow lion had yet to ram into anything.

“Look I’m just saying, if we suddenly got attacked right now, three out of the five of us would be flying blind. Not all of us have freaky sleep cycles like you two.” Zarkon could practically envision Blaytz shrugging his shoulders with a harumph. “We could have gone back and taken the castle. But no. Not even enough time to grab a bite. Just had to beeline it for the Daruvian System.”

Zarkon could feel his patience slowly growing thin as he felt his own sense of exhaustion creep up on him. He beat it down.

“Stop your griping. We should reach Daibazaal’s system in a few more doboshes. Once we have returned to my people, you are free to enjoy my hospitality.”

“Oh,” Blaytz murmured sarcastically to himself, seemingly having forgotten the comm was on. “Galran hospitality. _Fantastic_.”

The emperor growled and was about to demand that the blue paladin kindly explain his last statement when Blaytz suddenly gave a shout.

“Gah! Quiznak, Gyrgan, wake up! You almost drove straight into my tail!”

“Wuh?” The Rygnarathian gave a long, drawn-out yawn. “Sorry, just… don’t usually go this long without sleeping.”

“There, there, you see what I mean? Autopilot, Alfor. Look into it.”

“Fine, fine,” Alfor caved. “Just… everyone quiet down. We’re all tired and need a nap.”

A round of grumbles of agreement settled the issue.

At least until someone slurped.

“What was that?” Alfor asked.

Trigel gulped. “Probably just… interference.”

“Trige, what could you possibly be drinking right now?” Alfor asked, his sense of curiosity pushing through his exhaustion.

The green paladin sighed in surrender. “Something Blaytz gave me. One of the delicacies he got from that terran planet.”

“Wait.” Blaytz’s tone was suddenly urgent. “You’ve been _drinking_ that stuff this whole trip?!”

Another gulp. “Yes?”

“And you didn’t _share_ it?!”

“Silence!” Zarkon shouted through the comm to end the argument before it could get started.

“But, Zarkon, you don’t understand its—”

“I said SILENCE!”

That made the comms go silent.

“We are almost to Daibazaal. When we arrive, we disembark, you go to your usually appointed quarters, and we all turn in before someone does or says something they regret. Is that understood?”

There was no reply.

“Excellent.”

It was, perhaps, not the most professional way to diffuse the situation. Zarkon was sure that, come the next morning, he would have to better present himself in the face of his inevitably sulky allies.  At the very least, present them with a good enough breakfast to ensure they felt more forgiving about his outburst.

However, the nearer they got to Daibazaal, the more the emperor’s domestic worries began to weigh on him.

During missions as a paladin, Zarkon was forced to bury his purely personal concerns in favor of the problems at hand. It was a simple tactical fact that the needs of the alliance took precedence over all else. Separating his private and professional worries had not always been such a mental chore. It used to be quite easy to sort out in his mind what took precedence over what in his life.

Now the line between what was important and what was negligible had become blurred.

The paladins’ eventual arrival on Daibazaal proved to be uneventful. As instructed, they all drowsily disembarked. They stripped themselves of their armor, then made their way to the guest bedrooms, while making only minimal and necessary comments between them.

Zarkon did what was only his duty as a host and guided each of the members to their private chambers and bid them a good night. It wasn’t a strictly necessary exercise, but it was proper protocol when an Emperor of Daibazaal had honored guests. Technically, one of the head servants could have filled the role. Unfortunately, the late hour, short notice, and purely personal relationship between himself and the others rendered that out of the question.

Gyrgan barely responded to Zarkon’s words as he drifted in through the guest room door and allowed the door to slide shut behind him. A loud thump from behind the door temporarily made Zarkon question if he had even made it to the bed.

Trigel, interestingly enough, seemed to be wide awake, making small noncommittal comments about going over a few treatises and reports from across the alliance territory before going to bed. Zarkon refrained from asking her about the liquid container she was trying and failing to keep hidden in her belt pouch, and simply bid her a good evening before leaving her to her work.

Blaytz grumbled to himself irritably all the way down the hall, prompting the emperor to pretend that he didn’t hear the not-so-subtle criticisms of Galran beds and rooms. Instead, he gave Blatz a half-hearted pat in the center of the back and let the fish man drift away to bed to construct harsh criticisms in his dreams.

That left Alfor. Unfortunately, King Alfor was not so easy to send to bed.

“Are you quite alright, Zarkon?” There was a hint of concern in the voice of his old friend.

It made the Galra feel uneasy. “Perfectly,” Zarkon responded curtly. “Why would you think otherwise?”

“It is just you’ve been a lot more curt lately as well as a little quick to anger.” Alfor then felt the need to add, “I mean, more so than usual.”

Zarkon growled in annoyance.

“I do not see what you mean. I do _not_ anger unprovoked.”

Alfor raised both his hands in apology. “I didn't mean to imply that you did. It simply seems as though you have had something on your mind as of late. Is there something that’s been deeply worrying you?”

 _Damn the man_ , Zarkon thought. _Always seems able to read one’s mood._

“I am afraid I do not know what you mean. Everything is perfectly in order.”

Alfor gave him a look that was an interrogation in itself. A non-verbal string of questions seemed to slip through the Altean’s eyes.

Is it, though? Is there not something out of place? Out of the ordinary?

Something that weighs on your mind even when you’re focused on something else?

The unvoiced questions made their way through the silent space between them before Zarkon finally put a stop to it.

“Your bedroom.” He stopped at the corner of a divided hallway and gestured toward the welcoming door.

Alfor gave him another look before opening it and stepping into the doorway.

As the emperor turned to go, the Altean spoke.

“Please remember that you can tell me anything, Zarkon. Do not be afraid to confide in me.” He smiled. “I will be more than honored to do anything I can to help.”

Zarkon paused.

Hesitated.

Then said, “I… will remember that, my friend. Thank you, good night.”

Turning away, Zarkon walked to the end of the hall. He stopped, paused, and turned to go left.

“Zarkon?” The emperor froze midstep. He glanced back down the hall to see Alfor’s head still poking out the door. “Your bedroom is in the other direction if I recall.”

Zarkon froze guiltily. The gears in his head turned at a painfully slow rate.

Straightening himself, he cleared his throat. “Ah, yes. Of course. Got… turned around. Lack of sleep. It’s affecting my sense of direction. Foolish of me.”

He made a full one-eighty.

“Have a good sleep, King Alfor,” he said over his shoulder before walking away.

Zarkon moved slowly and quietly until he finally heard the sound of a closing door behind him. Even then he continued to walk a few more steps before turning around, pausing to peek around the corner to ensure that the hallway was indeed empty before hurrying down the _other_ hallway.

He most certainly had _not_ been planning to do this. It had _not_ been lingering on his mind ever since their late start on the trip home. Zarkon was _not_ one of those idiotic doting fathers who anxiously rushed home upon getting an urgent short message from their wife that they needed to _talk_.

It was the merest whim that took him to Lotor’s bedroom.

Nothing more.

The prince’s chambers were dark and still. Only the open door and far window allowed in any light. But even in the dim lighting, Zarkon’s eyes could still make out the small form curled up at the head of the bed.

Zarkon wasn’t much for stealth, but he didn’t need to be to quietly cross the room. Lotor lay facing away from him, as still as stone, with the only movement being the gentle rising and falling of his small chest.

Still asleep. Good. That made all of this easier.

Leaning over the bed as far as he dared, Zarkon pressed his bare fingers to the side of the child’s face and held them there for a moment. The boy’s face was unusually warm.

The fever still wasn’t gone.

Zarkon clenched his teeth.

Lotor had first fallen ill almost a month ago. At the time, his parents had just assumed he’d contracted a small cold. But the illness had persisted and the symptoms only grew worse until finally a day came when they found their child unresponsively delirious with fever.

The following days were an unmitigated blur.

Honerva had taken charge the moment the severity of Lotor’s condition had become clear, and Zarkon had found himself hustled out of the way. His time over the following few days had been a disorganized mess. Between staying away for long hours hoping for any news, comforting Honerva the few times she rested, and finding time to rest himself, Zarkon quickly lost track of the number of days that had passed.

Finally, the prince’s health stabilized and his parents were allowed time to breathe. As Lotor rested, the two discussed what to do. Their son had yet to fully recover and the cause of his sudden illness remained unknown. A fact that did not sit well with Honerva.

“His health has become unstable. He hasn’t had any problems since before he could walk,” she had said in her most bitter voice. “Something is wrong.”

Zarkon hadn’t known what to say. As an infant, the state of Lotor’s health had been a subject of much debate. He’d been small, weaker than normal, and had been prone to sudden onsets of fevers.

It had been suspected, though not outright stated, that the prince’s mixed genetics were to blame for his early developmental issues. Hybrid children between different species were a rare occurrence, and though both Galran and Altean genes had proven to be incredibly compatible with a large swathe of other species, the chances of a fully healthy child were still not especially high. When Lotor had grown out of sickliness and seemed to be developing strongly, Zarkon had thought the worse was behind them.

But now…

Zarkon had always feared his son was, what in the old days the Galra called, a runt. A child of inherently weak health and disposition. Lotor’s size and generally quiet demeanor had not helped abash these fears. However, as he grew, Zarkon had still harbored a small hope that his son would grow into a more domineering figure by adulthood.

Now, however, he just wanted his son healthy enough to _reach_ adulthood.

Lotor stirred slightly in his sleep, causing Zarkon to retract his hand in fear of waking the boy. However, beyond a few indiscernible grumbles, the child didn’t wake. Sighing, Zarkon took a more comfortable seat on the edge of the bed and allowed his fingers to brush a few loose hairs  from his son’s face.

Honerva’s message had reached him almost immediately after he and the other paladins had finished their mission. It wasn’t an unusual thing for her to do. In fact, Zarkon had found it rather helpful to know what important imperial matters awaited him.Yet those messages always carried at least some details as to what the matter entailed.

This time the message was just one line.

_We need to talk._

Short. Imprecise. Impersonal.

And not at all like Honerva.

In that moment, Zarkon had feared the worst. His subconscious reaching a thousand nightmarish conclusions, all of them ending in him returning to find an empty child’s bedroom.

He’d wanted to take off right away. Wanted to race home and put his fears to rest or otherwise face reality, and get the worst over with.

Despite this, he was still the black paladin. Still the head of Voltron and leader of his people. There were matters that he had to finalize in the Daruvian System that he could not allow himself to ignore.

Zarkon had had to stop himself before all of his priorities were in the wrong order. He had never had to do that before. Not after becoming a paladin, not after marrying Honerva, not even after Lotor had been born.

Asserting what was his duty had always been second nature. A natural, logical, unemotional process. He had never hesitated before now. Not once.

It was a terrifying experience.

He hadn’t mentioned Lotor’s decline in health to the other paladins. It was not a matter necessary for them to know and would likely have distracted them from the business at hand. Besides, the fewer people who knew just how sick his son had been the better. There were more than a few people, both outside of the palace as well as within, who would not lose sleep over the idea of the crown prince meeting a tragically early end.

Zarkon paused in his musings to let his claws caress Lotor’s hair.

White hair was not at all common amongst either Galra or Alteans. Alfor and his family all had white hair, but the emperor had quickly learned that this was not at all a common trait through the rest of the race. Honerva herself had found their child’s hair color confusing at first, but concluded that it had to simply been a genetic byproduct of Lotor’s mixed heritage.

Zarkon wasn’t quite satisfied with that anwer. Lotor’s hair wasn’t simply white, it was practically translucent. Even now, in the shadows of his bedroom, the prince’s hair took on a purplish tint reminiscent of the light from the hall. It was a unique trait that Zarkon could not help but find oddly endearing.

Many times when they were alone like this, the emperor would find himself almost subconsciously petting his son’s hair, only realizing what he was doing when the boy himself pointed it out. It was an odd habit, that he had no real explanation for.

“Papa?” Zarkon froze and retracted his fingers as Lotor stirred and turned over in bed. A pair of groggy, unfocused eyes blinked at the emperor for a few moments before the boy smiled and tried to sit up. “You’re back.”

Lotor teetered a bit at his own sudden movement, but his father’s quick, steadying hand on his shoulder quickly allowed him to regain his balance.

“Careful,” Zarkon scolded. “You are still half asleep.”

 _And weak from fever,_ he added in his head.

The prince pouted and said, as though reading his father’s mind, “I’m getting better.”

“As you said before I left.”

“I _am_ better, though.” Lotor yawned. “Mama’s been giving me medicine. I feel much better than I did before.”

Medicine? Zarkon couldn’t recall Honerva telling him she had found an effective medicine for their son before he left. It was possibly something experimental, but he couldn’t believe she’d have randomly given their child something she wasn’t sure would work.

However, he didn’t ask Lotor about it further. Better to inquire with Honerva when he saw her.

“ _Mother_ ,” Zarkon corrected instead. “And I am _Father_. You are old enough now to address your parents properly.”

Lotor grunted irritably and muttered, “Dayak told me that too.”

Dayak was Lotor’s governess. A domineering and completely immovable woman who nonetheless happened to be one of the most accomplished educators Daibazaal had to offer. Secretly, Zarkon was inclined to believe that his son was more inclined to respect the authority of his caretaker than his own father.

“Then you should obey her.” Zarkon carefully removed his hold on his son’s shoulder when it became clear the boy was now better balanced. “One should know how to properly address others to show one’s respect.”

“Yes, Pa—” Lotor paused and corrected himself. “Yes, _Father_.”

Zarkon patted the boy’s head in a show of approval.

“Father?”

“Yes?”

“Uhm,” the prince began hesitatingly. “Now that I am better—”

“You still have a fever.”

“Well, when I _am_ better,” Lotor corrected. “Can I begin… training with you?”

Zarkon removed his hand, more out of surprise than disapproval. “Where is this coming from?”

“You said I was older now. Before you’ve also said that you’ll train me ‘when I’m older’,” Lotor explained in the exasperated tone of a child giving an ironclad argument. “So, now that I _am_ older, it follows you’ll train me to fight soon.”

Oh. Oh, _right_.

It was traditional for Galran parents to begin teaching their children the basics of combat when the child had reached the appropriate age. This was true for every level of Galran society. From the very lowest farmers and servants, right up to the nobles themselves.

Every Galra was expected to know at the very least the basics of self defense by the time they reached adulthood. It had initially just been a common sense measure during the time when the Galra were at constant war with themselves that evolved into a culturally embraced tradition. Practically a right of passage into adulthood.

It had fallen somewhat more out of fashion in recent years. Partially because of the Galra’s powerful central military, as well as the new era of peace that his people now found themselves in. For the first time in a long time, many Galra citizens could look forward to something other than warfare.

Zarkon prided himself on knowing of, and following, many of the old traditions of his people. Both as a way to ensure the Galra never forgot their roots, and as a private metric for upholding his own sense of discipline. This one, however, he was completely unprepared for.

By all rights he should have been all for the idea. After all, Lotor wasn’t just any other Galra, he was a prince. Even if circumstances somehow led to him not becoming emperor after his father’s passing, it would still fall to him to uphold the honor of their clans bloodline and sally forth to do battle with the enemies of their people.

The image of his son standing against his enemies in a fight to the death should have filled Zarkon with a feeling of overwhelming pride, as it was expected to do in the minds of the fathers of all Galran soldiers. However, all he felt in that moment wasn’t a sense of expectancy, but one of dread.

Lotor was his son. His small, willowy, sickly, bookish son. The only fate Zarkon could imagine for him after any tenure on a battlefield wasn’t a joyous triumphant return, but a somber death march.

The idea alone was something he could barely handle.

“You are not old enough for that yet,” Zarkon spoke sternly.

Lotor’s brow stiffened. “But that’s not—”

Zarkon glared and the prince immediately fell silent.

“There will be no argument,” he said tersely. “I will decide when you are ready. Is that understood?”

Lotor didn’t respond.

“I said, is that _understood,_ Prince Lotor?”

The mention of his title prompted the boy to despondently reply, “Yes, Father.”

Zarkon allowed his body to relax. He hadn’t meant to be so harsh. But his need to assert some kind of control over the situation had taken over.

Quietly, he reached over and caressed the child’s cheek as a sign of goodwill.

“You will be ready to join the ranks one day. Just not now,” Zarkon said reassuredly. More to himself than his son. “Trust me, Lotor.”

Lotor’s own small hand (gods, so small) reached up and touched his father’s.

“You promise?” he asked with a serious tint in his eye.

Zarkon paused before replying solemnly, “I promise.”

* * *

 

Getting Lotor to go back to sleep wasn’t especially difficult. Despite his insistence that he’d been sleeping all day and wasn’t tired, the moment he’d actually lain down for more than a few minutes he’d nodded off.

Pulling the blanket over the boy, Zarkon paused for a moment and listened. Then slowly and carefully, he tucked Lotor in allowing himself to pet his hair one last time before standing. Zarkon barely missed a step as he crossed the room picking up the lamp on the bedside table as he passed.

His well trained hearing had picked up the sound of something moving around out in the hallway. Normally, he would have written it off as one of the sentries on patrol, but this presence was lingering. Logically there were only a few people who would be innocently waiting outside his sons door.

Honerva may have come to check on him, but her presence was so familiar to Zarkon that he’d likely have barely noticed her. Dayak could have come to look in on her charge, but she had never struck the emperor as the secretly nurturing type. The only other possible person was currently standing in the room brandishing a table lamp. Besides Zarkon rather doubted he was sensing his own presence.

That only left the type of not-so-innocent person who would stand outside a child's door in the middle of the night.

As the door slid open, Zarkon moved on instinct. He caught sight of a form out of the corner of his eye, and instantly reached out and grabbed it. Pinning them to wall by the door as he raised the lamp above his head to-

“Wait wait!” The voice cried out. “Zarkon, it’s me!”

At the mention of his name, the emperor hesitated just long enough for his mind to catch up with his body.

“Alfor?”

The Altean King gave him a rather sheepish smile, despite the massive galran hand against his throat.

“Surprise?”

Zarkon roughly unpinned him from the wall, but didn’t bother to help the man as he staggered back to his feet.

“What are you doing out here?”

“Is that how you greet everyone you meet in the hallway or am I just special?”

“Alfor,” Zarkon’s tone was serious. “What were you doing? And if you try to feed me a lie, I will know it.”

Alfor paused before carefully replying.

“I… followed you after you left me.” The glare the emperor gave him hurried him into further speech. “I am sorry. It is just that you have been so strange lately and you would not tell myself or the others why. I feared it may have been something… unsavory.”

“What do you mean by _unsavory_?”

“I mean like the time you went off on your own and had a blood duel to the death.” Alfor reminded him. “You didn’t tell any of us about where you were going.”

“That was _my_ private business. I was challenged for the throne.” Zarkon could still recall how his fellow paladins had fussed over him after he’d returned from the blood duel. The way Alfor had seemed horrified by the mere concept of a blood duel stood out exceptionally strongly. “It had nothing to do with you.”

Alfor looked hurt. “I should think my concern for your well being would involve me in some way.”

Zarkon softened somewhat at that. “Regardless, I am not up to anything unsavory. So you can consider your curiosity thoroughly satiated.”

“Yes.” the Altean sighed. “Not in the way I would have wished though. Tell me, how long has he been sick?”

“You,” Zarkon’s face convulsed in a mix of emotions. “You were… You were eavesdropping?!”

The betrayal in his voice made Alfor flinch.

“I didn’t mean to.” He explained. “I was just waiting for you to come out so we could talk. I couldn’t help but overhear.”

“You had no right.”

“How else was I to learn what was wrong?” Alfor demanded. “We are supposed to be allies and teammates and yet you do not trust me enough to confide in me. I want to do anything I can to help you, your family, and your people, but I can’t do that if I am not informed when you are in trouble.”

Zarkon sneered but gave no reply.

So Alfor repeated his earlier question.

“How long has Lotor been sick?”

Zarkon glared at a spot on the wall.

“Tell me.” Alfor urged.

With a sigh, he replied, “A month.”

Out of the corner of his eye he could see Alfor start in surprise.

“That long?!”

“Yes.”

“But… But that’s not… What does he have?”

“We don’t know.”

Alfor opened his mouth as though to say something but then quickly shut it again. Zarkon watched as the alteans mind worked behind his eyes. Clearly he was asking himself all the same questions Honerva and himself had asked, and steadily reaching the conclusion that there was unlikely anything he could think of that his wife had not already.

Honerva and Alfor had known each other long before Zarkon or any of the other paladins had entered the picture. Their professional relationship had been a long and productive one. Needless to say, Alfor was fully aware of how thoroughly Honerva’s mind worked on these types of matters and could not imagine her missing a single observation. Especially not when it involved her own son.

“Is… Is there something I can do?” Alfor finally managed to ask.

Zarkon looked at his old friend with a sincere appreciation.

“I mean,” the alteans mind seemed to be working at lighting speed. “Altea has further developed it’s medical technology. If there is anything at all you need, at the very least with help managing the symptoms, then just ask. Everything will be put at your disposal immediately.”

“You are being much too generous Alfor.” Zarkon tried to sound severe but the warmth of appreciation still crawled into his voice. “You should be more responsible with your people’s resources.”

Alfor waved aside his concerns with his hand.

“Our resources will not go to waste if its to assist the prince of one of our closest allies. One of my closest friends. I can tell you for certain that Melenor would not hesitate to agree with me, I’m sure.”

Zarkon had no doubt that this was true. Queen Melenor had always impressed Zarkon as being a thoroughly level headed, competent, and intelligent leader to her people. She was also very much well liked by most people who knew her. Lotor, he knew, was especially fond of her in his way.

However, the kindness of his ally could not change reality. To openly request medical aid from Altea would raise more than a few heads.

“I appreciate your support but this is not something I can allow to become public knowledge. Not yet.”

He watched with some humor as Alfors face became covered in confusion. The idea of deliberately hiding something of this magnitude was a foreign concept to the man.

“But surely-”

“I will take you up on your offer should the need arise.” Zarkon cut in. “For now, however, there isn't a need. Lotor seems to be doing better.”

“Oh,” Alfors tone became lighter. “That IS a relief!”

“Yes, very much so.” He agreed. “Now I must go and check in with Honerva.”

“You will give her my good will?”

Zarkon nodded.

“And tell her of my offer of assistance?”

He hesitated. Honerva could be horribly indignant about what she perceived as people interfering with her business. It was an especially sore spot when it was Alfor. She had never completely gotten over how he'd convinced Zarkon to close the rift all those years ago. Essentially cutting her research short.

It was an attitude that extended into her parenting. Anyone unfortunate enough to believe they could tell Honerva how to best raise their child would often find themselves on the receiving end of her ire. The only ones who were given any leeway were himself and Melenor (who had advised Honerva throughout her pregnancy).

Not even Dayak bothered to question the empress’s parenting. Though, that was likely more out of respect than fear.

As it was, Alfor had never spoken to Honerva about raising Lotor. If he had anything to say on that matter it was usually Zarkon he spoke to rather than her. It was an arrangement that Zarkon wanted to keep the way it was.

“I will ensure she is made aware.” He said noncommittally.

If a point came where getting Lotor medical aid from Altea ever arose, Zarkon made a mental note to make it clear it was _his_ idea rather than Alfors.

However this pronouncement seemed to satisfy Alfor.

“Good. In that case I'll be heading back to bed. Once you see Honerva you should both do the same.”

Zarkon watched the king walk away, feeling just slightly more upbeat than he did before. It was nice having a friend like Alfor. At times he wondered how his life would have been different if he had befriended Alfor in his more formative years and what kind of hijinks the two would have got into.

With that amusing thought in his mind, he headed off to see his wife. Hoping she would not feel too upset about him taking his time.

Alfor couldn't help but find mornings on planet Daibazaal rather dreary. The landscape was made up largely of sprawling rock formations tinted with a rusty reddish color while the sky tended towards a dark purple. He was so used to the brightly colored mountains and fields of Altea that Daibazaal just seemed dull by comparison.

Not that he'd ever say as much. Besides, there were many unique plants and animals on the galran homeworld that Alfor couldn't help but take an interest in. The shape and formation of Daibazaal created an almost fantastical environment that he had never been able to find anywhere else.

Unfortunately, Galran beds were rather hard and their rooms somewhat cramped. Blaytz had taken to referring to zarkons rather bare bones handling of guests as “galran hospitality”. A term the black paladin took a definite offense to.

While not having the same expectations as Blaytz, Alfor did have to admit that the galra in general tended to be a very straightforward and practical people. Everything from their clothes, to their architecture, to their weapons were designed with usefulness in mind. Any kind of 'fashion’ tended to be added on top in a way that wasn't especially gaudy. At least when compared to other species.

However if there was one thing he couldn't hold against the galra it was their dining experience. Daibazaal didn't have balls, dances, or any kind of big frivolous parties like that. Alfor didn't think it was a matter of being _against_ such things (memories of Zarkon enjoying Alteas numerous balls and his own wedding came to mind) but rather the galra had been so bare bones in their way of life for so long that they hadn't developed many occasions to celebrate. Except of course for their victory banquets.

Alfor supposed that it naturally came with being a warrior culture. After even a relatively short battle, the first thing he always found himself wanting was a long rest and a big meal. He could only imagine that most galran warriors in the past felt much the same way.

So naturally the mornings breakfast was exceptionally good. Most of the allies seemed to be in a better mood then they had been last night. The only exceptions being Trigel, who looked twitchy and nervy, and Zarkon, whom none of them had seen since the night before.

A long sleep had restored Gyrgans lively personality as well as Blaytzs good humor. They were both now happily chatting with one another in the dining hall. Alfor sat next to Trigel, occasionally throwing concerned glances at the green paladin who was shakily holding her utensil.

Leaning over to whisper to the other two, Alfor asked, “Does anything seem off about Trigel this morning?”

Gyrgan stopped with a hunk of food halfway to his mouth.

“Well now that you mention it…”

Blaytz cut off his one sided conversation with the nearby servant (who tried to look disinterested though the small smile on their lips gave them away) and turned to join in on the gawking.

“Probably stayed up too late.” He shrugged.

“Reading treaties?”

Blaytz hummed.

“That and _other_ things. She doesn't think I know, but she's been reading certain bits of Nalquodian literature. If you know what I mean.”

Gyrgan snorted at the innuendo as alfor frowned, less out of displeasure and more out of concern.

“I'm _serious_.”

Both of the other men looked past alfor to get a better look at trigel.

“She DOES seem to be acting a bit off.” Gyrgan muttered.

Blaytzs brow furrowed in contemplation before getting up and moving down the table to Trigel. He placed a hand on her shoulder, prompting her to jump in surprise and turn an irritable eye on her companion.

“Blaytz! Do not come up behind me like that! Next time I should strike you.”

“If you were your normal self you would have. What has you being so out of it? Bad nights sleep?”

Trigel grunted and turned back to her meal.

“I did not sleep last night.”

Her three compatriots looked shocked.

“ Why not!?”

“Are you ill?”

“Anything worrying you?”

With a groan trigel leaned on the table and clutched at her head.

“Do not speak all at once! My head cannot take it!”

“Your head?” Alfor asked full of concern. “Do you feel ill?”

Blaytz was frowning in disapproval.

“Trigel,” he began slowly. “ How much of that Terran stuff did you drink?”

She didn't respond at once. Instead she took a moment to collect herself and reflect.

“I think...maybe...seven cups?”

Blaytz looked flabbergasted.

“No wonder you're feeling I'll! So.e terrans start feeling sick after just three!”

“What are you two talking about?” Gyrgan asked.

“The substance Blaytz gave to me from that Terran planet. I was drinking it last night.” Trigel sighed. “It's supposed to be a natural stimulant. A strong one.”

“Enough of it can keep a Terran going for days.” Blaytz explained.

“Really?” Alfors interest was piqued. “Could I possibly have a sample?”

“I wouldn't mind d trying some myself.” Gyrgan said.

Blaytz gave a non committal hum Ashe side eyed the haggard looking trigel.

“I'm not sure. Trigels only sick cause she drank too much of the stuff, but its still possible it'd have an I'll effect on alteans and rygnarathians. I could poison you guys.”

A sharp inhale if breath drew their attention to the door.

“Zarkon!” Blaytz greeted. “Fashionably late I see!”

Alfors eyes widened at the sight of his friend. Just the night before the emperor had looked much as usual. Only the air of worry about him had told alfor something was off.

Now however zarkon looked one hundred years older. His face was pale and his eyes sullen. He looked between the four, a look of apprehension on his face.

“What,” zarkon began almost _too_ carefully, “ are you discussing?”

“Blaytz’s new Terran goods.” Gyrgan grinned. “Seems they give trigel a headache.”

Blaytz immediately jumped to his own defense. “Only because she drank too much.”

“Stop. Speaking. So. Loud.” Trigel growled in frustration.

The three devolved into pretty squabbling as alfor approached zarkon. An uneasy feeling settled into his stomach as he began gently, “not had breakfast yet?”

Zarkon didn't immediately answer. Instead his focus was squarely on the other paladins. His ears twitching as he listened to the conversation.

Alfor frowned. “Zarkon?”

The emperor's immediately jolted to alfor.

“What? Oh.” He pinched the bridge of his nose. “No, I… I do not seem to have an appetite this morning.”

The feeling of unease increased.

Dropping his voice to a whisper, alfor asked worriedly, “did something occur after we parted last night?”

Zarkon hesitated before saying, at a volume alfor couldn't help but find unnecessary, “you have already eaten this morning my friend?”

Alfors eyebrows raised. He noticed Blaytz glance at them before something Gyrgan said recalled his attention.

“Yes I, uh, had a very quick breakfast?”

“It was to your liking?”

“Yes, yes. Listen, zarkon is something-”

“Honerva inquired about you last night.” Zarkon said, uncharacteristically abruptly. “She wanted me to show you her latest designs. If you are finished with your meal will you kindly accompany me?”

Despite his misgivings, Alfor acquiesced and silently followed zarkon out of the dining room. No one commenting on their departure.

Alfor couldn't quite find what to say. Something had clearly upset his friend since he's seen him last night. However there was only one thing he could think of that could rattle zarkon so badly.

If something had happened to Lotor in the night, then it would explain zarkons uncharactic behavior. However, he couldn't see why zarkon had come to retrieve him rather than send a trusted servant. He couldn't imagine anything that could tear his friend from his son's bedside in the case that his health had taken a turn for the worst.

His and zarkons conversation from the night before did nothing but exacerbate alfors fears. After all, he had meant what he'd said about his offer of assistance. He just didn't want it to be needed.

Eventually, the two found themselves in honerva private research lab. Alfor couldn't say he'd seen the inside of the place in a long while. His and honervas relationship had been soured so long ago that walking into her lab made him feel nostalgic.

Zarkon showed alfor to one of the nearby consoles and brought up a set of designs. Alfor politely looked them over, but at this point, he felt he was vaguely aware of why he'd been brought to this most private of sanctums.

“As usual,” Alfor said in his most ordinary tone. “Honerva’s designs are impeccable.”

“Yes,” The pride in Zarkon’s voice could not be hidden. “Her intelligence and skill have not diminished over the years in the least.”

“No, I doubt they would. Honestly I don’t believe there’s any force in the universe that could hamper Honerva.” He chuckled. Then, without turning away from the console, “What do you really want to speak to me about?”

Alfor didn’t need to turn around to know the shot went home.

“Honerva hasn’t invited me to her lab since the rift incident. As much as I would like to believe that she has forgiven me, it is unlikely that she would actually allow me in here without her present.” He sighed as he closed the designs. “But that’s a private affair. To anyone on the outside looking in, it makes perfect sense for you to bring me, Altea’s wannabe alchemist king, to your wife’s lab in order to discuss our shared field of study. The fact that her lab also happens to be one of the most secure and private rooms in the imperial palace, and thus the perfect place for a discussion you don’t want overheard, would even be considered.”

He glanced at Zarkon’s stony face.

“Am I incorrect?”

Zarkon took a deep breath.

“Perhaps.” He didn’t look Alfor in the eye, preferring to stare straight ahead, “and… perhaps not.”

The Altean raised an eyebrow at him.

“Really Zarkon? You aren’t a _terrible_ liar, but it’s not your forte. You’re too straightforward.”

Zarkon’s nose crinkled in distaste at the criticism, but said nothing. It was an accurate enough statement and they both knew it. If Zarkon ever had to keep a secret, then his best bet was to just say nothing at all. That, in its own way, was far more frustrating to Alfor than if Zarkon just lied.

If Zarkon was clearly worried and he claimed he wasn’t, that was easier to deal with than if he said nothing at all.

“Has Lotor gotten worse?”

“Why would you think so?”

“Last night mostly. Though there’s also the fact that I can’t think of much else that could affect you so much.”

“What do you mean?”

Alfor scoffed. “You forget that I am a parent as well? It’s obvious to anyone who cares to pay attention how much he means to you and Honerva.”

Zarkon flushed in embarrassment.

“Don’t act so shamefaced. It’s perfectly normal.” Alfor scolded. “I know you both prefer to play the strict aloof authoritarian role, but it doesn’t reflect how you really feel.”

 _Besides,_ he added to himself. _It doesn't do to convince_ **_Lotor_ ** _of that act._

“I do not need to tell me how to raise _my_ son.” Zarkon growled. “Lotor knows perfectly well how we feel. I do not need to coddle him to get that across.”

Alfor bit his tongue to cut off a very tempting rejoinder. He wasn’t here to lecture Zarkon about how he chose to express affection to his only child. Even if he did disapprove.

“We’re getting away from the main topic. What is it you wanted to discuss? Does it have to do with Lotor?”

Zarkon did not answer. Instead he took a moment to calm himself. When he finally spoke it was with an unexpected question.

“How is her royal highness, the princess of Altea?”

“Allura? My daughter is doing well.” Alfor sighed, resigning himself to the fact that Zarkon was not going to be straight with him. “She has begun her basic training and studies.”

“Ah yes, studies” Zarkon almost jumped on the final word. “Many people come to Altea to study do they not?”

“Yes,” Alfor answered cautiously. “From all over the system.”

“From many different species?”

“Certainly. They learn on Altea and take that knowledge back to their home planets.”

“Is that not unwise?”

“Why? Because we’ve shared our knowledge with them?” Alfor gave a wry smile. “No, I don’t think so. Many of our students come back to Altea and begin their work there. Not all of the breakthroughs that have driven my people forward have been made by Alteans. It’s a mutually beneficial system.”

“Until one of them uses that knowledge against you.”

“You would say that.”

Zarkon paused before carrying on the conversation.

“Lotor has begun his studies. He is quite capable though he’s fallen behind as of late.”

“That is to be expected, considering.” Alfor pointed out ruthlessly.

“Yes,” Zarkon’s tone faltered a bit before soldiering on. “O-On that note…”

He hesitated.

Alfor waited expectantly.

“Considering… I mean, Honerva is a very intelligent woman and was mostly educated on Altea. Of course she is Altean herself so… that is not odd.” Zarkon struggled to come to the point. “Daibazaal has certainly benefited from her knowledge. As you say, many people who do not come from Altea study there. So, I was thinking… I mean, if it is not too much trouble…”

Seeing the mighty Zarkon when he was being bashful and reticent was still a novelty to Alfor. It was difficult to reconcile the stern and stoic warrior king with the awkward blabbering man before him. He tended to only get like this when it came to asking for a favor or admitting a mistake, and never when he was in front of strangers.

After a long pause that made Alfor wonder if he would ever come to the point, Zarkon finally asked, “Would it be too impertinent to ask if, when you return to Altea, you could… take Lotor with you?”

Alfor’s eyes widened in surprise. He looked at Zarkon only for the other man to avert his gaze.

“To study.” Zarkon reiterated before bungling along in explanation. “As I said, he’s fallen behind. A-anyway there is a lot to learn on Altea that will ultimately do him, and Daibazaal, a lot of good.”

He stopped. When Alfor said nothing in reply, he went on.

“Being half altean himself, I think it will do him a lot of good to learn more about that part of his origins. Besides, he knows of and is fond of you and your family. He’d be- He’d _feel_ a lot safer and more comfortable with you than anywhere else.”

“Is that,” Alfor asked,” really what you wanted to ask me?”

Zarkon hesitated again before nodding.

None of this seemed to fit. It wasn’t that Zarkon’s logic was off (in fact it was rock solid) or that Alfor himself was against the idea. He’d have been downright giddy about the suggestion if it hadn’t been for everything else.

If Zarkon had just wanted to discuss his child’s academics, then why all the secrecy? Surely this was something he wouldn’t feel bashful about arranging. In fact, knowing Zarkon, he’d probably prefer to make it a massively important affair.

After all, their people had only been at peace for a relatively short amount of time compared to how long they had been at war. Sending any noble child, let alone an imperial heir, to the other planet for education and training would be a sign of a stable peace. It made no sense to try and keep it from spreading.

Then there was the matter of Lotor’s condition. If there was anything Alfor could think of that could render Zarkon into such a nervous state, that was it. If Zarkon had taken Alfor to a secret place and asked him to take Lotor to Altea for _treatment_ , then his odd behavior would make sense.

It was possible that this whole arrangement was a sort of cover story. Zarkon had wanted to keep his sons illness a secret. So sending him to Altea for treatment under the guise of education would be an excellent compromise.

But in that case, there was no reason to be so secretive with Alfor. For the whole thing to properly work, he’d have to be in on it. Otherwise there’d be risk of the whole ruse falling apart.

Yet, it was the _only_ explanation that made sense. There was no way Alfor learning of the prince’s illness and Zarkon’s sudden desire to send him to Altea was a coincidence. The two had to be connected.

Alfor mulled it over a little bit more before asking, “Is this your idea or Honerva’s?”

Zarkon pressed his lips together and didn’t reply.

“Ah,” Alfor sighed. “Her’s then.”

“I do agree with her.” Zarkon said hurriedly. “I greatly admire Altea.”

“I know. There are things I admire about Daibazaal. However, you don’t want Lotor to go do you?”

The emperor’s face became unreadable.

“It… is for the best.”

It likely was for the best.

Still, Alfor hadn’t thought Honerva disliked him enough to not even discuss and arrange her own plans with him. He’d actually thought their friendship had been slowly healing. He supposed things were still rather touchy on her end, and that was why he was being left out of the loop. Though he partially suspected this roundabout way of explaining things was due to Zarkon’s attempts at hiding his unwillingness to be parted with his son.

Honestly, things would be so much simpler if the two of them weren’t so stubborn.

“It’s rather short notice.”

Zarkon’s lips twitched, an argument forming behind his eyes.

“But,” the galra looked at his friend hopefully. “I would be more than honored to take Lotor back to Altea with me.”

A sense of intense relief seemed to seep into Zarkon’s stance. His face remained disciplined and inexpressive, but Alfor’s trained eye caught how his shoulders slackened and his giant hands unclenched.

“Then it is arranged.”

Zarkon ended the topic there, and their conversation drifted to other subjects.

However, for the rest of his stay, King Alfor couldn’t help but feel there was a sense of dread hanging over the imperial palace. A fear that something was building up and about ready to burst. It followed him right up until the day of his and Lotor’s departure, and the lingering suspicions it caused stayed with him for a long time after.

**Author's Note:**

> WHEW this one was a long haul. This is probably the first standalone fic for this AU that contains any potential plot details (I'm making this up as I go along soooo yeah).  
> But yeah, if you guys have any questions regarding this AU, feel free to ask! I'll try to answer questions as best I can though if I don't have an answer to the question or I think it'd in anyway spoil future events in this AU, then I'll likely leave the question unanswered (though I'd still LOVE to see them and take them into consideration)


End file.
